


Better Off As Lovers

by trespresh



Series: I'm Half-Doomed, You're Semi-Sweet [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Barry's still kind of a slut, Bottom Barry, Bottom Len, Explicit Language, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:19:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trespresh/pseuds/trespresh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time he has sex with Leonard Snart is unplanned, at the very least.</p><p>(First is the worst, second is the best, third is the one with the... handcuffs?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Off As Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> I'm amazed and so flattered by the response to What A Match (I'm Half-Doomed), so consider this the prequel. Half of this was written while buzzed off white wine, the other half was written while sleep-deprived, so that should explain everything. All these two seem to do on my watch, is have sex. I still regret nothing.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Characters belong to the DC Universe, title belongs to Fall Out Boy. Grant does not belong to me and I'm upset about it.

The first time is more an accident than anything else.

Barry’s had his fair share of first times for all kinds of things: the first time he celebrated Christmas without his parents (bitter and abnormally cold, even with the fire crackling merrily in the West living room fireplace); the first time Joe taught him to shave (fourteen years old and baby-smooth, but he begged Joe to teach him anyway); and the first time he drove by himself (he was sixteen and ran over at least three curbs). The first time he had sex with a girl (awkward and fumbling in his tiny dorm bed his freshman year of college), and the first time he sucked a guy off (heart pounding and equally fumbling, but far more enjoyable and undeniably right, his junior year).

The only other First Time Barry could compare this to, was the first time he ran with his new powers. Heart in his throat and knowing there’s no way this could be okay, could be right; rushed and terrifying and exhilarating all at once, feeling like he could throw up or vibrate right through the floor or both with the rush of it.

The first time he has sex with Leonard Snart is unplanned, at the very least.

There had been tension between them since the first time Flash had faced Cold. Angry tension, yes; I-Might-Want-To-Kill-You tension on both sides, sure. It was only a matter of time before Barry realized that thick tension could turn sexual. After all, he can only hate Cold so much, think about Cold so often, fantasize about pinning him to the ground and beating him once and for all so many times before the slightest thing—the smallest flick of a tongue on lips, the quirk of an eyebrow or trace of a smirk—alters that fantasy from pummeling Cold into the cement, to laying him out and unbuckling his jeans.

Or, well. At least that’s what Barry tells himself as he does exactly that.

“Christ, kid,” Cold says, leaning back on his elbows on the floor of a dirty warehouse with Barry straddling his thighs, fast fingers deftly unzipping the parka and unbuttoning his jeans, and Barry refuses to acknowledge the breathless smirk in his voice. He spares a brief thought to be thankful he’d disconnected the com system in his ear.

He’d caught Snart in the stocking warehouse of some technological company. He doesn’t know or care what Snart was intending to steal, but it doesn’t matter because now, after Snart had fired the Cold Gun at him, after Barry had knocked him to the floor and the gun out of his hands, Snart seems to have forgotten what he was there for, too.

“Took you long enough to go for it, kid,” Snart tells him as Barry pulls his glove off with his teeth and gets a warm hand around him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing—what they’re about to do—just that he wants to. For whatever reason, Snart isn’t pushing him off, and Barry sure as hell doesn’t _want_ to be pushed off.

“Here’s the thing,” Barry says in a rushed voice, “if we’re actually going to do this—” he swipes his thumb across the head of Snart’s cock and revels in the responding gasp, “—you’re not going to call me ‘kid.’ You’re not going to call me ‘Flash,’ you’re going to call me by my name.”

Snart laughs—actually _laughs_ , and Barry dazedly watches his lips stretch in a smile as he looks down at Barry like he’s fascinated by him.

“Take your mask off, _Barry_ ,” Snart purrs and it goes straight to Barry’s cock, hard and uncomfortable in his suit.

Barry rips the cowl back from his forehead and Snart’s hand immediately comes up to thread into his mussed hair, tugging experimentally. He holds the fingers of his other hand up to Barry’s lips and commands softly, “Suck.” Barry does, curling his tongue around the fingers and watching Snart watch him with a hungry look.

It’s rushed and desperate and not at all comfortable, Barry shrugging out of the suit and leaning forward so Snart can reach around to get slick fingers into him, groaning at the awkward angle but _god_ —the friction nearly does him in right then and there.

“You’ve done this before?” Snart verifies as Barry shuffles up his thighs, positions himself.

Barry snorts, “Like I’d let _you_ be my first.” He drops a hand to the center of Snart’s chest, feels the hands on his hips clench as he guides himself down onto Snart, eyes closed and teeth clenched at the too-sharp burn. He drops his forehead to Snart’s shoulder when he’s fully-seated, and listens to Snart’s low hum, his heavy breaths as Barry gives himself a minute to adjust.

The choked whimper in his ear when he finally moves is heart-stopping, and he rocks his hips forward in hopes of hearing it again. Snart’s hands are so tight on his hips, guiding him forward and back and in small circles, squeezing hard enough to leave marks if Barry were capable of bruising. He loses himself in Snart, in the little irresistible upward jerks of Snart’s hips and the slide of his untouched cock against Snart’s stomach, the grunts and hums deep in Snart’s throat that are all because of Barry.

It’s heady, intoxicating, and Barry feels like he might be drowning, gasps when Snart’s hand leaves his hip and curls around his cock instead, and Barry shakes and sees _stars_ when he comes over Snart’s fingers and stomach. The hand leaves his cock, goes back to his hip and holds Barry still and pliant while Snart fucks up into him fast and hard, before pulling Barry down against him and coming inside him.

“ _Christ_ , Barry,” is all Snart says as Barry lifts off a minute later. “Who knew?”

Barry’s still basking in the afterglow, which is why he allows a sated smile and asks, “Who knew, what?”

Snart’s head lolls to look over at him. “That you were good for more than just ruining all of my jobs.”

Barry laughs and stretches as he stands. “I’m not going to stop ruining your plans, Snart.”

“Figured as much,” Snart chuckles, “but if _that’s_ how you’re going to stop me, I’m going to start planning another job immediately.”

Barry quirks an eyebrow, pulling his suit on. He pulls the cowl over his face and grins at Snart. “You might want to put your pants on,” he tells Snart, who finally looks up and eyes him suspiciously.

“What’re you—”

In a blink, Barry yanks his jeans up for him and runs him to the police station before Snart can finish his question. Snart looks around and then at him with narrow eyes, a disbelieving smirk on his face as Barry calls out, “I found something you guys might want.”

“You—” Snart says, looking almost impressed and smiling like he can’t be sure if he wants to laugh or punch Barry, as cops rush forward. He doesn’t take his eyes off Barry as he lets them handcuff him and lead him off.

“’Til next time, Flash,” he calls over his shoulder with a chuckle, and Barry holds back his laugh.

It had just been a while since he’d had sex, is how Barry justifies the whole thing to himself as he leaves the station. He was just desperate, would’ve gone for anyone, and it just so happened that it was Leonard Snart who was there and more than willing.

It won’t happen again.

+

It happens again.

Not even a week later, Barry finds Snart in one of Central City’s art museums after closing hours. Snart’s hands are clasped behind his back, admiring an impressionist floor-to-ceiling mural with a gold-plated frame.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Snart hums, not turning away from the painting, having felt the _whoosh_ of air from Barry’s arrival. “The colors are extraordinary.”

Barry scoffs, casting a look around the room and seeing no Cold Gun, no Heatwave, and apparently, no missing artwork. “You’d never be able to fit it out the door.”

Snart turns his head a fraction so he can smirk at Barry over his shoulder. “This one’s not my target, incidentally.”

“Then what is?” Barry asks, but feels himself redden just a little when Snart turns to face him fully. He has the forethought to switch off the com system, just in case, and knows he’ll have to think up a lie to tell Caitlin and Cisco later.

Snart doesn’t answer his question. “You know, I never pegged you for one to use people,” he says instead, and he doesn’t sound angry, just annoyingly amused. “I have to say, I’m actually kind of impressed.”

“I didn’t _use_ you,” Barry starts, ready to defend himself but Snart cuts him off.

“You push me to the floor and ride your little heart out,” Snart grins, “you let me come inside you,” (Barry suspects he’s just saying these things to try to get Barry to blush, and he’s irritated that it’s working), “and then you get me arrested. You definitely used me.”

Barry frowns, doesn’t like the way Snart’s twisting the whole thing, but Snart laughs and claps his hands together once. “Relax, kid, I’m not complaining. Like I said, I’m impressed.” His mouth twists into a ravenous little leer as he adds, “I wasn’t lying when I said I’d plan a new heist right away.”

“Speaking of which,” Barry jumps in, willing the warmth in his cheeks to _go away already, honestly_. “How did you break out of prison already?”

Snart raises his eyebrow as if to say, ‘ _really?_ ’, and okay yeah, Barry wasn’t actually expecting an answer to that anyway. He swallows roughly when Snart takes a step toward him, and it’s not until now that Barry notices the absence of the parka. Snart’s in a fitted black sweater that emphasizes the broadness of his shoulders and slim line of his waist, and he hums quietly to bring Barry’s attention back up to his face, and _god_ , Barry’s blushing again because Snart’s wearing a smug smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Barry.

The word _unfair_ comes to Barry’s mind. He doesn’t know why he bothers with his mask, when Snart can read him this well anyway. He pulls the cowl back, feeling like he can breathe a little better.

He’s only conflicted for the short amount of time it takes for Snart to cross the room and crowd into his space, and Barry doesn’t know why he doesn’t move away, out of Snart’s reach, but he stays still and lets Snart lift a hand to his face, tap a finger on Barry’s lower lip. That stupid smirk never leaves his face because he knows, he _knows_. The memory of Snart’s low command from the last time (“ _Suck_ ”) crashes into his mind unwelcome (or really, really welcome, if Barry thinks about it), and with it comes the flood of memories—the almost-too-much burn of Snart inside him; the weak, shaky noises Snart made; Snart’s cool hand on him, stroking him, until he came across Snart’s stomach—and, well.

Barry doesn’t stand a chance.

“Where’s your place?” He asks, and is mildly pleased by the thrown-off look that crosses Snart’s face.

“What? Why?”

Barry rolls his eyes. “This is not happening on the floor again.”

“Alright, princess, but I’m not telling you where I live,” Snart says. “Why not your place?”

Barry looks at him incredulously. He lives with Joe; there is no way _that’s_ happening. He thinks for a moment. He doesn’t like the idea of a hotel—it seems cheap in a way that makes his skin buzz—but they don’t have many options, as it seems.

“Hold on,” he tells Snart, and in a blink, whisks them both to an unoccupied room in the (admittedly, too fancy) hotel up the street.

Snart stumbles a little when Barry lets him go in the doorway, setting a hand against the wall to steady himself. He heaves a breath before looking around vaguely. “Swanky,” he murmurs around a smirk and looks over at Barry near the bed. “A little warning next time would be great.”

Barry shrugs. “I told you to hold on,” he says, unconcerned, and ignores the slamming of his heart as he unzips the front of his suit. He tries to look relaxed, nonchalant, when he climbs onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows and looking at Snart to make the next move.

Snart, for his part, just grins and locks the door. He pulls the sweater over his head as he walks to the bed, crawling up Barry’s body. He peels the suit back from Barry’s shoulders, down his arms and torso, down until Barry can kick it off with his feet, leaving him in a ridiculous pair of—

“You’re wearing Batman boxers,” Snart asks with an infuriatingly amused tone, and Barry rolls his eyes and shucks the boxers off too.

“Not anymore,” he cheeks. Snart chuckles and skims a thumbnail teasingly over the skin between Barry’s hipbones—so close to touching him where he wants, where he _needs_ — “Will you hurry up and take your pants off already,” Barry whines, and that gets Snart moving pretty quickly.

If the first time was good, however rushed, the second time is truly unreal. He gets Snart’s fingers careful and quick (he’d nearly lost it right away when Snart actually _spit into his hand, fuck_ ), and then Snart lifts Barry’s legs, hooking them over Snart’s shoulders, and he leans forward to practically bend Barry in half as he pushes in. Barry’s hips lift off the bed at the perfect angle for Snart to hit his prostate with nearly every other thrust, and Barry’s got his hands clasped around Snart’s forearms because he has to hold onto _something_ , his head thrown back and jaw dropped and eyes closed at the feel of Snart—everywhere, on top of him, inside him, surrounding him—it’s almost too much, and he is so glad he went for this a second time, _Jesus_.

When he opens his eyes, Snart’s eyes are on him, half-lidded and with that same look of fascination from the last time. Barry holds the gaze for a few seconds, arching his hips up to meet Snart’s pace, and it’s with Barry’s eyes on him that Snart’s hips stutter, and Barry whimpers because he can literally feel him coming inside him. It’s weird and dirty and hot and Barry thinks he could watch Snart’s jaw drop and face go slack as he comes, every day of his life and never get sick of it.

He’s disoriented when Snart pulls out and settles on his stomach between Barry’s legs, gets two fingers back into Barry and his mouth around Barry’s cock—god, he just wasn’t expecting it—and then he’s coming harder than he has in a long time, and Snart’s rapt attention never leaves his face as he swallows.

Barry’s pretty sure he’s gone boneless. He collapses back against the pillows and Snart crawls up to lay next to him. They lay there, breathing hard, and Barry can’t help his grin or the satiated laugh that bubbles past his lips.

Snart looks at him with a smile of his own, asks, “What?”

Barry rubs a hand over his face and looks over. “Who knew?” He teases, repeating Snart’s words from last time.

Snart laughs, too, taking the bait. “Who knew, what?”

“That you’re such—” he waves his hand around vaguely, searching for the right word, “—an attentive, uh, partner.”

Snart sits up, smirking down at Barry. “I’m finding I really like the way you face looks when you come,” he says casually, and Barry blushes and pretends he hadn’t been thinking the same thing about Snart. “I think I’m going to have fun with that.”

Barry doesn’t bother to say this won’t happen again. Honestly, after that? Yeah, this is probably going to happen again.

He watches Snart stand and stretch before getting dressed. He fishes in his pocket and Barry is surprised to see him pull a fifty dollar bill and slap it on the nightstand.

“I—what? You’re not paying me,” Barry sputters, and Snart laughs.

“No, I’m not,” he says. “It’s for the maid service. I may be a criminal, but I wouldn’t want to be the one to clean those bedsheets.”

“Oh,” Barry reddens, “right.”

“Besides,” Snart says lowly, and he turns to walk back to the bed toward Barry, “I can think of better ways to pay you,” he says, and Barry almost laughs but then Snart leans down to kiss him, soft and experimental but sure in a way only Snart can be. It strikes Barry that this is their first kiss, and he feels a little cheap considering they’ve had sex twice, but he kisses back anyway.

Then Snart’s pulling away, walking to the door, and Barry calls out, “Snart, wait! You stole something, didn’t you? From the museum?”

Snart doesn’t turn but Barry can hear the smirk in his voice. “Len,” he says, and when Barry doesn’t answer out of confusion, he elaborates. “You don’t want me to call you ‘kid’, I don’t want you to call me ‘Snart.’”

He doesn’t answer Barry’s question, and when he’s got his hand on the knob, Barry calls out again. “Fine, _Len_. Wear that sweater again next time.”

Snart laughs, and then he’s gone.

+

“Security cameras caught Leonard Snart and Mick Rory at the Heller Art Museum last night,” Joe says, walking into Barry’s lab the next day. Barry freezes, heart leaping into his throat. He hadn’t even considered security cameras. He internally freaks out because if the cameras caught Snart and Rory, they would’ve caught The Flash showing up, Barry removing his mask, and—his stomach flips—Snart’s fingers on his lips. The two of them disappearing as Barry carried Snart away.

He is so screwed.

He wills his voice to come out normal, “What did the cameras show?”

Joe shrugs. “They took some small Roman sculpture; the museum estimates its worth at just below three million.”

“I _knew_ it,” Barry mutters before he can catch himself, and Joe looks at him in confusion. “I mean, uh—I just. I knew Snart wouldn’t stay in prison long,” he flusters, but Joe accepts the answer with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah, he gets a meta-human cell next time,” he says.

“So, um,” Barry continues, looking everywhere but at Joe, his heart beating much too hard. “Anything else? I mean. On the cameras?”

He wishes Joe would stop looking at him like that. “No,” Joe says slowly. “Kind of weird though, Rory takes off with the statue but Snart hangs around. The camera feed cuts off after that.”

Snart must’ve turned off the cameras somehow. The knot in his stomach loosens and he nods, the relief probably evident on his face because Joe adds suspiciously, “Why’re you acting weird? What do you know?”

Barry shakes his head a little too quickly. “Nothing. What? I don’t know anything.” He internally groans and hates that his super-speed doesn’t help him think faster. “I have to go meet Cisco. For lunch.”

He gets up and Joe nods at him slowly, eyes narrowed like he doesn’t believe Barry for a second. Thankfully, he lets it go. “Yeah, alright. Tell Cisco hi.”

Barry hurries out and, conveniently, runs into Cisco on the stairs. He grabs him by the arm and says, “Hey, we’re going to lunch.”

Cisco doesn’t miss a beat. “Excellent, there’s this new taco stand I wanted to check out.”

Barry is, for the millionth time, beyond grateful for Cisco Ramon.

+

It’s a rare occasion that the CCPD catch Snart and Rory without the help of The Flash, but today is one of those days. Barry’s in his lab after lunch, tracing pictures of shoeprints from an earlier crime scene, when he hears a racket from downstairs. When he gets to the stairs, he sees Mick Rory, goggles askew on his forehead, roaring and straining against the two cops leading him, and Snart— _Len_ , Barry reminds himself—following quietly behind with another cop holding his arm.

Joe points the cops and criminals toward the holding cells in a backroom of the station, and Len looks up and sees Barry watching from the second floor. He smirks, jutting his chin in Barry’s direction, and Joe follows his gaze up to Barry. He grabs Len’s arm and jerks him, hisses something Barry can’t hear, and then Len and the howling Mick Rory are gone.

Joe climbs the stairs, stopping at Barry’s side. “I don’t like that he knows who you are,” he tells Barry. Barry’s just relieved that Joe thinks Len’s smirk of acknowledgement was about Barry being The Flash. The idea of Joe ever finding out about him and Len doing whatever it is they’re doing, kind of makes him want to throw up or maybe die. Or both.

Barry shrugs. “Yeah, I know. He’s kept his word about not telling anyone, though.”

“More than I would’ve expected from him,” Joe grumbles. “Iron Heights is at capacity for the night, so those two will be transferred over in the morning. Hey,” he lowers his voice and looks around before saying, “Would you mind hanging around tonight and just, I don’t know, keeping an eye on them? Just in case. We both know Snart doesn’t stay locked up easily.”

Barry runs a hand over his face and nods. “Yeah. I’ll keep the suit in my lab and tell Singh I’m writing a report all night or something. That way I’ll be right upstairs if they give the guards any trouble.”

Joe smiles gratefully and claps a hand to Barry’s shoulder before heading back down the stairs.

+

Barry can’t think. He’s too aware of the fact that Len is in the same building, let alone right downstairs, to focus on detailing evidence or separating blood samples. He’s on edge; the idea of Joe, Cisco, and everyone he works with being in the same place as the world-class _criminal he’s been having sex with_ (seriously, what is he thinking?) has his imagination conjuring up every possible humiliating circumstance.

What if Len says something? (Realistically, he knows Len won’t say anything. The guy’s entire line of work is built on keeping secrets, and so far, he seems to be pretty good at it.) More likely, what if Len drops hints that make Joe suspicious? He can picture Joe interrogating Len, can see Len’s stupid smirk and hear his voice saying things like, “Too bad Barry Allen can’t bruise,” and, “I’ve got a few marks I’d like to leave on him.” And if Len talks to Cisco? Barry just knows he’d say something mortifying (“Bet you’re dying to know why he turns your little microphone off every time he goes after me”), and the idea of that has Barry blushing and it hasn’t even happened yet.

He has to do something, has to talk to Len. He collects a printing kit and heads downstairs.

+

“Hey,” he greets the officer standing guard in front of Len’s holding cell. “Detective West sent me down to take fingerprints,” he lies, holding up the kit and smiling innocently.

“Sure thing,” the guy says and steps forward to unlock the door. Barry walks into the small cell, four solid walls with a small, barred window and a thread-bare bed on which Len lounges. His arms are stretched over his head, the handcuffs looped through an iron hook on the wall to keep him from moving around, and yet he lies there casual as ever, eyes closed and looking ridiculously relaxed for his current situation.

He looks over when Barry steps in, a predatory smile immediately inching onto his face.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me, Allen,” the guard says, and Len scoots up on the bed, arms twisted to the side where he’s handcuffed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t hurt him, officer,” Len calls out before the man can close the door. “Pretty face like that.”

Barry’s back is to the guard so the guy doesn’t see the annoyed, narrow-eyed look he directs at Len. He hears the officer scoff, “Shut it, Snart,” before the door closes and they’re alone.

“Was that necessary?” Barry grouches. “I was going to uncuff you, but I don’t think you deserve it.”

“Oh, please, that was a _compliment_. Your face really is very pretty,” Len teases, grinning at Barry, who rolls his eyes. He steps forward and pulls the key to the cuffs from his pocket. “Where’d you get that anyway?”

Barry quirks an eyebrow and unlocks Len’s cuffs so he can sit up comfortably and rub his wrists. “Grabbed it off the guard before I walked in. You’re definitely rubbing off on me,” he says, and adds, “Don’t say it!” when Len smirks and opens his mouth to make what Barry’s sure would’ve been some dirty comment.

“So what,” Len says, “you’re here to break me out? I appreciate the sentiment but I’m pretty good at it on my own.”

Barry laughs. “Yeah, no. Definitely not,” he says, dropping to crouch in front of Len and pulling the fingerprinting kit over.

Len, for his part, looks down at Barry with a salacious leer. “The guard is right outside, kid, but it’s not like I’m gonna say no,” he mocks, and Barry’s confused for a moment before he realizes what it must look like, him practically on his knees in front of Len.

“Shut _up_ ,” he says. “I need to talk to you.”

Len sighs. “Much less fun, but alright. Talk about what?”

Barry busies himself with pulling out the ink and paper; he grabs Len’s wrist and dips a few fingers in the ink, pressing them to the paper just in case anyone were to walk by and look in through the window on the door.

“You can’t say anything about—this. Us,” he says, and Len raises an eyebrow, “I mean. You and me, and that we’ve—you know.”

Len looks extremely amused at Barry’s stammering. “I’m not going to say anything.”

Barry presses another finger into the ink, then onto the paper. “I know. I know, it’s just. If Joe finds out, or Cisco—”

“Joe and Cisco aren’t going to find out unless _you_ tell them,” Len assures him. “If anybody found out, you’d never let me fuck you again.” He grins when Barry throws a nervous glance at the door. “Do I look stupid enough to let that happen?”

Barry looks up at him, considering this. “Okay, yeah. Good point.”

“Also. You said you’d get rid of any record of me,” Len says, a sharp edge to his voice when Barry finishes up with the fingerprints and puts the ink away. “And if I’m not mistaken, that includes fingerprints.”

“Relax,” Barry tells him, standing up and picking up the handcuffs. “This was just an excuse to come down here. Now, you might want to get comfortable.”

Len grudgingly lets Barry handcuff him to the wall again, and Barry uses the excuse to lean over him, press himself against Len’s side. A thick tension falls over the small room, and Barry finds himself wishing the officer keeping guard would take a lunch break.

“Kinky,” Len murmurs, voice low and gruff as Barry tightens the cuffs around his wrists. “This really isn’t fair, you know.”

“Consider it payback for that sweater of yours,” Barry retorts, licking his lips, and Len watches and chuckles.

“I knew you’d like the sweater.”

Barry leaves the room after that, not bothering to sneak the handcuff key back on the officer’s belt loop on his way out. The guard won’t need it anyway, and Barry has a stomach-churning, slightly sick feeling that he’ll be back later tonight.

+

His gut is usually right, and tonight is no different.

He’s trying to catch up on some reports in his lab, but again, Barry can’t focus on his work. This time, however, his imagination is torturing him with very different scenarios. The situational potential of Len in handcuffs makes him shift in his chair, and he has to admit, getting laid by such a forbidden person in such a forbidden place sends a thrill up his spine.

Sure, with all the running into burning buildings and facing dangerous meta-humans Barry does, he knows he could be called a thrill seeker. But this? It’s on a whole different level.

He checks his watch—well past midnight. The station should be empty. He takes a deep breath to steel himself, and zips into the suit and downstairs.

+

When he gets to the holding cell block, the guard outside is nodding off in a chair. Barry grins; he couldn’t have a more perfect excuse to relieve the officer.

“I’ll take it from here,” he says, voice vibrating, and the officer jerks awake, looking sheepish.

“Flash,” he gapes, and Barry nods.

“Why don’t you go home and get some sleep,” Barry suggests, and the officer rubs at the back of his neck. “Really, don’t worry about it. I won’t tell anyone,” he says in as friendly a voice as he can.

The officer looks mildly skeptical, but his voice is grateful when he responds, “I—thank you.”

Barry can’t blame him for leaving so readily; who better to leave the guard duties to than The Flash? He waits until the officer is gone before opening the door and walking in.

Len is, unsurprisingly, awake. He looks over when Barry walks in and laughs, loud and unashamed, when he sees Barry in the suit.

“Misusing your title to get rid of the officer, _Flash_?” He smirks. “That’s not very heroic of you.”

Barry rolls his eyes and pulls back the cowl. “Shut up, do you _want_ me to leave?”

“Depends on what you’re here for.”

Barry pointedly unzips the suit a couple of inches, raising an eyebrow, and Len’s eyes darken.

“I like this rule-breaking Flash,” he says and lies back on the bed, arms still pulled over his head and shackled to the wall by the wrist. He tugs on the cuffs. “Did you bring the key?”

Barry smiles. “I did, but.”

Len’s eyes narrow. “But?”

“I don’t know,” Barry says, stepping further into the small room. He crawls up onto the bed, knees on either side of Len’s hips, and leans down to nip at the exposed underside of Len’s bicep. “Kinda like you like this.”

Len hums, quiet and appreciative, and turns his head to kiss Barry. It’s not tentative and soft like their first kiss, but more urgent and thrilling with the way Len bites at Barry’s lower lip, arches his hips up so Barry has to catch himself with a hand on the wall. A tiny growl tears out of Len’s throat and he jerks at the cuffs, frustrated like all he wants to do is get his hands on Barry.

Almost teasingly, Barry slides his hands over Len’s chest, down his sides, back up to grasp his shoulder when Len grinds his hips again and their erections catch.

“Can you keep quiet?” Barry gasps, and Len snorts breathlessly.

“I should be asking you that.”

They’re both too wound up to waste much time. Barry yanks off the suit at super-speed, and then pulls Len’s CCPD-issued pants to his ankles so he can kick them off himself. He crawls forward on his knees so Len’s legs fall over his thighs.

“Can I?” He asks pointedly, tracing his fingers over the backs of Len’s thighs.

Len smirks. “I suppose it’s only fair,” he says in mock contemplation, and Barry grins, a thought occurring to him.

He hates to leave Len right now, sprawled out and wearing nothing but a t-shirt, but he zips away for a couple seconds and returns with a small tube of lube, tucking himself back under Len’s legs.

“Corner store up the block,” he says, flipping open the cap.

Len chuckles, “Now why didn’t we think of that the last few times?”

Barry hums distractedly, coating his fingers and shifting to get one into Len. He watches Len’s face closely, eager to see the way his lip twitches, eyes falling closed at the feel of Barry’s finger.

“’S’okay?” He asks, and Len nods. Barry pushes another in, vibrates them a little and Len’s eyes fly open. “Yeah?” Barry grins, and Len looks at him like he can’t believe Barry is even real, eyes a little too-wide and mouth opening like he’s gonna say something but all that comes out is a weak whimper that has Barry vibrating his fingers harder.

“Jesus— _fuck,_ how have you not mentioned you can do that?” Len gasps, and Barry can’t take his eyes off Len’s face, needs to be inside him right this very minute.

He pulls his fingers away much too soon and Len lets out this delicious little whine—so unlike anything Barry had ever expected to hear from him—and Barry scrambles to line up and guide himself into Len. It’s so tight, so good— _fuck_ he can’t breathe—and Len’s legs wrap around his waist and he growls out this low little “ _move_ ,” and Barry obliges.

He sets a pace that’s inhumanly fast, not enough to hurt Len but just enough that his hips blur a little and Len can’t lift his hips up to meet him fast enough. Barry channels the speed, vibrating inside Len just enough that Len keeps letting out these needy little moans, all shapeless consonants and mumbled words, and Barry leans back a little to watch.

Len’s arms are pulled tight over his head, twisting and pulling on the cuffs hard enough that Barry suspects they’ll leave marks on his wrists, and Len’s writhing under him and fuck—he’s probably the hottest thing Barry’s ever seen.

He slows down a little, just this side of super-speed, and vibrates harder and then Len’s coming—face slack and jaw dropped in the way Barry loves—clenching around Barry, and then he tumbles over the edge, too.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Len says dazedly a few minutes later, after Barry finally takes pity on him and unlocks the cuffs. Barry lies back on the tiny mattress next to him; he leans his head lightly against Len’s shoulder, and is surprised that Len lets him.

Barry laughs and Len continues. “Seriously. _Seriously_. That’s going to happen again.”

“Fine by me,” Barry says sleepily.

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep like that, curled up against Len, but when he wakes a few hours later with Len asleep next to him, it’s with panic that he speeds off the bed and into the Flash suit.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself. He shakes Len awake, and Len groggily lets him cuff him to the wall again. He presses a kiss to Len’s mouth as a goodbye, trying not to freak out because what if someone saw him in Len’s cell, naked and sleeping?

That feeling like he might throw up creeps up again, his stomach lurching because he’s furious with himself for falling asleep, but when he skids to a halt in the main room of the station, it’s completely empty. The sky outside is dark but with that still, quiet promise of impending sunrise; Barry figures it’s around 4:30, and the realization that he got away with visiting Len has relief flooding through his chest.

He zips up to his lab and back into his normal clothes before dropping into his chair and promptly falling asleep on his crossed arms.

+

“Barry. _Barry_.”

Someone’s shaking him and he blearily swats the hand away, mumbling incoherently. He hears Joe’s soft laugh and cracks an eye open.

“Lemme sleep,” he groans, thoroughly exhausted from the night before.

“Go home, Bar. Snart and Rory are still in their cells—you did good,” Joe tells him. “Go sleep for a few hours.”

Barry nods and struggles to his feet.

“Thanks for staying the night,” Joe claps him on the back. Barry salutes him tiredly, earning another laugh from Joe, before he flits out of the station.

+

Len and Rory are transferred to Iron Heights later that day, and sure enough, escape a few days later. One of these days, Barry’s going to have to figure out how they keep doing it.

He’s heading to S.T.A.R. Labs the morning after Joe tells him about the Rogues’ escape, and finds Len leaning against the back entrance used only by himself, Caitlin, and Cisco.

“Are you insane?” He hisses, looking around as he approaches Len. “Caitlin and Cisco—”

“Are not here,” Len interrupts smoothly. “Relax. I’m just here to give you this.” He holds out a ripped piece of paper and Barry takes it, a smile inching onto his face as he reads it over.

“Is this your address?” He asks.

“Come over whenever,” Len smirks, kicking off the wall.

Barry laughs, “I thought you weren’t going to tell me where you live.”

“Yeah, well.”

“You _like_ me,” Barry teases, and Len quirks an eyebrow.

“Quit smiling at me like that,” he snarks, but he’s got a small smile on his face, too. “You, I like. It’s that insufferable Flash I can’t stand.”

With that, he leaves Barry standing there with a stupid grin on his face (and his heart definitely _not_ swelling up in his chest.)

 

 

 

 


End file.
